Word: pales
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...whole world to read. (You and your instructions that everything should be burned. Hah!)" The old man is not content simply to refute the younger Kafka's charges. He turns self-defense into the art of attack: "And you sitting there at meals always with a pale, miserable, glum face, not a word to say for yourself, picking at your food...You haven't forgotten that I used to hold up the newspaper so as not to have to see that. You bear a grudge. You've told everybody. But you don't think about what...
...want desperately to talk to someone who isn't teething, and the woeful results when they try to generate conversation with those lumps, their husbands, by asking, " 'What kind of a day did you have dear?' One husband reportedly answered by kicking the dog, another went pale and couldn't find words, another bit his necktie in half...
...down. Juliet wasn't raised above the stage; instead, she curled up under a quilt on a large mattress, while Romeo stood over her pleadingly. Later, in the Capulet fault, the audience was treated to a ghostly mirror-image of itself--a huge bank of the auditorium seats with pale corpses propped in them, staring...
...Carol and Fernando, who became the self described "Fearsome Foursome" of Latin American lobbying, who devoted much of their waking hours to planning forums, writing newsletters, and organizing marches. "I look at my picture for the Dunster House facebook, and I had circles under my eyes and I was pale," recalls Carol. "Mary and I used to joke about crossing eating and sleeping off of our list of things to do." Fernando remembers that this interest in Latin American causes extended even to Lionel residents who were not very active in COCA. "I think a lot of people...
...Raphaelitism never quite went away. It acquired an armor-plated niche in the English imagination. Its present triumph, symbolized by the Tate show, has nothing to do with dubious cultural cliches like "postmodernist irony." There is no irony in Pre-Raphaelitism. Everything there, from the pale, swooning damozels down to the last grass stem, is the product of unutterable sincerity. Those painters would rather have died of lockjaw than paint anything that was not direct, heartfelt and didactic...